Delta Fifteen
by TheFABFive2015
Summary: TAG 2015. A companion piece to the backstory I created for Scott in Crash 'n' Burn. Scott Tracy's world has fallen apart. Now it's up to his family to put it, and him, back together.
1. Chapter 1 - Death Of A Dream

Well, folks, I'm taking a break from all the shenanigans in Oh, Brother! to give my angst bunny a bit of a run.

To those who've read Crash 'n' Burn, you'll know I created my own backstory for Scott, to explain why he left the Air Force. As you remember, I really put him through the wringer too, with a lousily timed bout of PTSD - and there'll more of the same here!

So, for all you angst lovers out there, here's the story of Delta Fifteen, and how its repercussions changed Scott's life.

Enjoy!

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Delta Fifteen

Chapter One - Death Of A Dream

Jeff Tracy stood staring at the door in front of him - hating the emotions that were stopping him from stepping through it. He'd been an astronaut's for Christ's sake! Faced the greatest fears in mankind, as he'd felt the rocket beneath him roar to life. A controlled explosion of fire and fuel, that could have engulfed him at any moment.

Killed him as horrifically as it had killed his childhood hero, whose legacy now lived on through the name of his third born son.

He'd faced all that. Beaten back the fear, and defeated it. Yet his hand was shaking now. Frozen in front of a simple, harmless door, and... _damn it_!

Anger now joined that melting pot of emotions. Anger that no amount of whisky in the world could quell. A rage that overwhelmed him. Made him open the door to Scott's room, while a voice ghosted through his mind, trying to offer him comfort.

 _'Today will be better_. _Today has to be better_.'

 _Her_ voice. Trying to offer him comfort, even as his own voice cracked in the fresh anguish that it brought him instead.

"Scott? Hey, son, it's - it's me."

Trite? Banal? The kind of pointless small talk that deserved an equally pointless answer? Just like all those awkward, damn insensitive questions that he'd had to field after Lucy's death?

" _Jeff, how... how are you_?"

" _Do the boys realize what's happened_?"

" _You're taking them out of school_? _Oh, Jeff, do you really think you should_? _I'm sure Lucy would_ -"

\- find some way to reach him, Jeff thought, forcing those still painfully raw memories out of his mind as he sat down beside Scott's bed.

Same chair, he noticed. Same chair, unmoved from where he'd sat in it the previous day, and through so much of last night. And the day before that. Three more before that.

Same chair. Same room. Same bed. Same heartbreaking sight, lying inside it.

That was the worst part. Not the sound of jets, taking off from Miramar, and soaring out on their latest sorties. Sounds he'd always loved, but that now made this tragedy all the more cruelly ironic. Not the hustle and bustle of people moving through the halls outside, reminding him that... yes, life still went on. As it had to do, life still went on.

No, it was the silence inside this one, tiny part of _his_ life.

Scott's life.

A life that now lay broken in front of him. A life, and dreams, as cruelly shattered as his eldest son's body.

That he was alive at all was beyond miraculous. Left leg broken in two places. His right thigh, blessedly, just once. Three ribs, cracked sternum. Torn spleen, compound fracture of his right hand. A concussion that had almost, _almost_ , taken him all by itself.

 _'Scott's in a deep coma, Mr Tracy... we're doing everything we can for him, but_ -'

Everything that sad-faced surgeon had said after that had passed straight through Jeff's mind. Already in shock from the accident, he'd refused, just point blank refused, to believe that his eldest son was going to die.

Maybe that was it - the famous Tracy stubbornness - that had brought him back. Lucy had always loved to tease him about that, and... oh, God.

 _'Lucy_.'

God, how he'd needed her then, while that surgeon had tried to make him face the unthinkable. How desperately he'd wanted to reach out to his side, and feel the comfort of her hand around his.

But no. His anchor was gone, and several whisky bottles had taken its place. He'd drained the first, and hurled the others against the wall of his motel room, until the godsend of her voice had told him to stop.

 _'No, Jeff... no, this isn't the way... our baby needs you, Jeff... he needs all of you, not the dregs of some damn bottle!_'

Better than anything else in the world, that had snapped him out of it. Sobered him up faster than any hangover cure on the planet. His boy had needed him.

Needed him then - still needed him now. Needed his love and strength to guide him back from... well, wherever he was right now.

Jeff just wished he knew where that was, because... God, for the life of him, he just had no idea. All he _did_ know was that his boy, his Scooter, needed to know where _he_ was. Where he _had_ to be, for as long as it took to bring him through this.

Where the bastards who'd hung him out to dry _should_ have been. Right there beside him.

Gently, so gently, he took Scott's less injured hand. Ran his thumb over still bruised, bandaged fingers, while his other hand brushed back his hair. More than anything, he prayed it hadn't been a trick of the light that had made those lashes flicker towards him.

No, it had been his presence. Right? It _had_ to be his presence that he'd responded to.

Just like that whisky, Jeff needed more. Craved more, so much more than the twitch of an eyelid. He needed those eyes to focus on him. Acknowledge him.

But no. All he saw was stillness. All he heard was silence. Physically, Scott might have been just inches from him, but... no, for far too much against that, he was an immeasurable distance away.

The only signs of conscious awareness were those that his own body were forcing him to do. Breathing, to keep him alive. Blinking, to keep his eyes from drying out - to wither like the grass that lay outside his window, scorched by a merciless sun.

Eyes like the sky. That's how Lucy had always described them. Her firstborn son's eyes were her very own sky. Perfect innocence, perfect sweetness. Perfect blue.

Except they saw nothing now, except the ceiling that held some secret fascination inside it. A tiny part of it, that lay high above Scott's head. The same patch of plaster that his bright, brave, brilliant son had spent staring at, for the last five days.

Staring at it, in complete and utter silence. A world that had become his prison. Trapped him in the hell of this living nightmare, until his medications pulled him back down again, into the blessing of synthesised sleep.

Still watching him, Jeff released a breath he hadn't even known he'd been holding. For every part of him that told him this wasn't happening, a greater part of him reminded him that... yes. Yes, it was. This was reality, of the cruellest kind.

His boy was broken. No part of his enormous wealth could put him back together. And that, right there, was what terrified Jeff Tracy the most. That's what made him bow his head now, and close his eyes against the tears that he wouldn't, _couldn't,_ allow to fall.


	2. Chapter 2 - Damage Control

Aww, thanks so much for these lovely reviews! Poor Scott - I really do make him suffer, don't I?

It isn't over for him yet, either, and I hope I've made its cause realistic enough to be true to his character.

So, then, Scott is in serious trouble. And in keeping with angsty tradition, things have to get worse for him before they get better.

Thanks again, and I hope you enjoy this next chapter!

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Delta Fifteen

Chapter Two - Damage Control

"...and it's the finding of this investigation that the loss of Delta Fifteen was due to pilot error... the actions of Captain Tracy were a defining factor..."

Ripping it to shreds, Jeff threw that day's paper into the trash bin beside him. Stared at the glass of whisky in his hand, and gave in to its familiar comfort. Smiled a bitter, humourless smile that he'd resisted the urge to hurl it against the wall of his room.

No, he'd gone down enough of that road already, and... well, allowances for its cause would only go so far. There were only so many times that a sympathetic maid would tolerate the grief and anger of a righteously outraged father, and clear up the mess he kept leaving behind.

Instead, he slid two more $100 bills into the envelope that he'd left for her. As his mother had taught him, you paid back every act of kindness, and... yes, as one of the few people in this damn town to do so, Maria had surely shown him that.

Another gesture of generosity leaned against the desk. Maybe not left in the same sense of spirit, of course, but... well, a good gesture all the same. And he certainly wouldn't miss the clothes that he'd transferred from his bags into the motel's charity sack.

No, the only thing he wanted to take home with him was Scott. And if this plan to get his son out of this nightmare was going to work, the last thing he needed was all this luggage slowing him down.

Glancing around him, just to make sure he'd picked up everything he _did_ need, Jeff's eyes fell back on what remained of the paper's front page. Its headline, that he'd treated with the contempt it deserved.

"DELTA FIFTEEN - OBSERVER CAUSED FATAL DISASTER."

Swallowing hard, Jeff grabbed his keys, and strode towards the door. Kept that stride at full length and speed, right through the parking lot, until he reached his car. Gunning the engine, he hit the gas, and drove out onto his exit road without a single glance behind him.

Part of him hated this. Leaving San Diego like some yellow-bellied coward. But the greater part of him kept his foot on that gas pedal. Cold, hard fury kept him focussed on why he was doing it. Or, rather, who he was doing it for.

Scott.

 _His_ son. _Their_ scapegoat. Hung out to dry, like so much damn laundry.

Consciously or otherwise, Jeff's grip on the steering wheel tightened. His eyes darkened in now familiar rage.

So, then, that was it. Three years of faultless service, that Medal For Valour, those lives he'd saved while his commanding officers squabbled over 'line of command.' All gone. Destroyed, because the same gutless wonders had refused to listen to his son's warnings.

'... _with all due respect, sir, that engine's not right... you've got to put the launch date back... run more tests to find out why_.'

They, of course, had known better. Known far better than the brash young kid who'd already embarrassed them. And yes, wasn't it just so surprising that, as Scott's final warning had turned into a horrified scream, _they'd_ gone to ground like weasels down a hole?

' _...she's on fire! I repeat, she's on fire, she's breaking up, and... oh, God! Oh, God, Flight Control, I'm - I'm hit too... I've been hit by debris, I'm going down! Ejector seat's failed... mayday, I'm going down, I'm going to -_ '

\- hit the ground at over two hundred miles an hour, and pinwheel so deeply into it that it had taken the rescue teams twenty minutes to reach him.

Almost an hour to cut him out of the wreckage. A fraction of the time it had taken his superiors to save their own sorry asses. Oh yeah, _amazing_ how fast they could move when it suited them.

Bastards.

Yeah, the Air Force could take his 'regrettably accepted' resignation, and ram it up their God damn sixes, until it became surgically impossible to remove, and -

*beeeeeeeeeeep*

Holding up a hand in silent apology, Jeff took a deep breath, and pulled back onto his side of the road. Braking to a halt, he sat for several moments. Closed his eyes, willing himself to calm down. He'd be no use to anyone, least of all his boy, if he got pulled over and ticketed. And it wasn't as if those bastards deserved any effort of his thoughts. No, every one of those thoughts had to be for Scott. Had to be for protecting his son.

For Scott, then. _Scott_. No one else.

Maybe it was these thoughts for his son, the natural instincts of a father trying to protect his family, that made his breathing come slightly easier. Or, maybe, it was the 'something else' that made Jeff smile, if wistfully, towards the seat beside him. As always when he'd needed her - yes, his Lucy was there to calm him down. Soothe that infamous Tracy temper. Bring everything back into perspective, and remind him what _really_ mattered.

His... no, _their_ boy. _Their_ son.

 _'Get him home, Jeff... get him to where he needs to be_...'

Yes, nothing like thoughts of family to get your priorities back on track. God knew, there was nothing left for either of them here. And surely, after the horrors of the past three weeks, they had to catch a break of good luck now?

 _Please_?

If he'd had the faith to do so, he might have turned that last part into a prayer. Right now, though? Well, Jeff thought through a bitter smile, his belief in the great Almighty was very much a work in progress.

When he reached the hospital, the smile cautiously widened. The news vans that had been parked there to cover yesterday's 'big announcement' were gone. It was an odd relief, too, that now _ex_ Captain Tracy was already yesterday's news. Through the deepest kind of irony, that was just what Jeff had hoped for.

Just one crew remained now, clearly determined to milk this damn mess down to its last drop, and... well, they could go on waiting 'til Hell froze over.

"Sorry, boys, you've had enough out of _my_ boy already. Go catch yourself another fly."

Steering the car around to the hospital's rear parking lot, Jeff parked up and, checking around him, headed just as quickly for the nearest door. And no, the irony wasn't lost on him either. One of the richest men in America, using the "Delivery" entrance to a damn hospital.

Skulking into it, like a damn criminal too scared to show his face. At just gone five in the morning.

Still, needs must. And if it meant getting Scott out of here without that news crew knowing about it, then that was fine by him.

Once inside, he let himself relax a little. Where the Air Force had kicked his boy to the kerb, such callousness would never reach him here. To the surgeons who'd saved his life, the doctors and therapists who were supervising his recovery, and... well, yes, quite a few of his nurses too... Scott was still their patient, and they'd protect him accordingly.

As several, cheering smiles reminded him, their quiet but impeccably mannered patient was a popular one too. It was a small but precious comfort that every member of his care team, from his doctors right down to the orderlies who kept him fed and bathed, were as appalled by how he'd been treated as he was.

It had been one of those therapists, though, who'd struck an especially worrying chord. Yes, in physical terms, Scott had made a remarkable recovery, but his psychological state had become a real concern. Normal, post traumatic shock was threatening to turn into something much worse.

Two nights ago, from the unluckiest of causes, it had all come to a head. Somehow, and Jeff didn't really care how, the TV in Scott's room had jammed itself onto the local news. And, of course, there was just one top story. His career, in shamed and damning ruins. Running on a continuous, merciless loop.

For Scott, it had been devastating. The sight of him, staring at himself on his TV screen while a scrum of horrified orderlies had fought to turn it off, would haunt a lot of people for a long time to come.

The damage, though, had been done. Shock, guilt, grief, anger, horror at those awful pictures, all emotions that he just wasn't strong enough to handle, had completely overwhelmed him. And three days of coaxing him out of that waking coma had been shot to pieces.

He'd shut down again, retreating even further into the only place where he felt safe. That still, silent, blank-eyed world. Not quite full catatonia, but damn close to it. And while he'd slept through the blessing of deep sedation, Jeff and his psychiatrist had sat at his bedside, and talked through the best way to repair it.

Luckily, Dr Eva Barrett had agreed with him without any kind of argument. They needed to get him back to familiar surroundings. Back to a place where he felt safe. Protected. And they had do it _fast_.

That was where being a multi millionaire with your own high connections had come in real handy. A few calls to one of his old Navy buddies, a couple more to the head of Ocean Command, and their ride to Tracy island was all good to go.

Now all Jeff had to do was get his still traumatized son from one safe haven to another. The non-newsworthy sight of a departing ambulance would take care of that. For so many reasons, though, this part of the plan was proving to be the hardest for Jeff to face.

From entering his room, to moving him, so gently, onto the gurney beside his bed, to wheeling him just as carefully to the waiting ambulance, Scott hadn't moved a muscle. Spoken a word. He hadn't even winced at the movements that, Jeff knew, would have caused him a great deal of pain. For his father, already fighting so hard to keep a brave face, it was a heartbreaking sight.

Only when they'd reached the gates to San Diego's Naval Station had Scott shown any kind of response. Even then, Jeff hadn't been sure if it was a good sign or not.

Staring at the unfamiliar sights around him, he'd turned his head back again, his eyes reflecting everything that he couldn't bring himself to say.

Guilt. Shame. Fear. Despair. Helpless bewilderment, at the situation he now found himself in. Every emotion that broke his father's heart, while Jeff had struggled to keep control of his own.

 _"It's okay, son, I'm getting you out of here... getting you back to where we can bring you through this... you're going home, Scott... you're going home_."

For what felt like hours, those eyes had kept staring up at him. Then, as tears started to glisten within them, they'd flickered. Blinked. The first sign of coherence he'd seen for the last two days, but... God, right now, Jeff would still take it.

After that, though, Scott slipped back into the twilight world that still held him trapped within it. As Eva had explained, it was his mind's natural reaction to what he'd been through. Its way of protecting him from a reality that he just wasn't strong enough to face. And yes, even without her level of expertise and experience, Jeff had known what was coming next.

" _He'll come out of it when he's ready, Jeff... and be ready yourself, because when it does hit him, it's going to hit him really hard_."

All the more reason, then, to get him home. Back to where the love of his family could bring him through that part of his recovery. The equally painful weeks, and months, that would follow.

Now, as the limitless Pacific stretched out ahead of them, he glanced across to where Scott lay beside him, staring out at the bow wave that was taking him home. Inwardly, at least, he had to smile as he squeezed Scott's hand, and made him a silent promise.

 _'That's it, son, you keep looking forward... leave all that behind you... 'cos there's no way in hell that we'll ever go back_.'


	3. Chapter 3 - The Darkest Hour

Aww, poor Scooter! When I said things had to get worse for him before they got better... no, I wasn't kidding!

This is probably the darkest chapter of angst I've ever written, so brace yourselves... because Scott's about to face his greatest challenge.

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Delta Fifteen

Chapter Three - The Darkest Hour

Scott lay on the den's comfiest couch, his legs resting as comfortably as their splints allowed along its length. Staring outside, he sourly noted there was little in a cloudless blue sky that could hold any kind of interest. In every possible sense - no, there was nothing in those skies that could ever interest him now.

Just months ago, _weeks_ ago, it had all been so different. His whole life had stretched out ahead of him. Full of promise, and excitement. Hope for where this ultimate service to his country might take him. Just three years into it, he'd already been awarded the Medal For Valour. The proverbial world had lain at his feet.

Now, it lay in ruins. Shot to hell by the very dream that he'd yearned to achieve. As shattered as the body that lay, broken and useless in front of his self-scorning eyes. All he had now was his family. Dad. Grandma. Four brothers who were suddenly so nervous and awkward around him. As if the teasing banter they'd always enjoyed so much would somehow break him even more.

Brothers who he now wholly depended upon, to sit with him. Try to hold some kind of conversation. Bring him his meals - each time in the forlorn hope that he might actually want to eat it.

Damn it, he couldn't even go to the bathroom, without either John or Virgil helping him to get there. Without their quiet, hesitant voices slipping past the door - asking him those same damn questions.

" _You okay, Scott? You... um... need me in there_?"

He couldn't sleep either, without the meds that he still needed to keep him there. Even then, this endless torture still stole into his dreams. Filled those dreams with sights and sounds that his self-protecting memory could no longer suppress.

Yes, he remembered it all now. Everything he'd seen, and felt, and said, during that last, tragic flight. All replayed through his mind, like the worst horror movie on Earth.

"... _Flight Command, this is Delta Fifteen... we're in trouble_..."

"... _vision's out - out of focus... feel like I'm bl-blacking_..."

"... _Flight Command, we've got bad air up here... sw-switching to emergency ba_ -"

"... _Delta Fifteen, this is Flight Command... do you copy? Delta Fifteen, respond_!"

"... _Flight Command, this is Eagle One... I've got visual, I can see them... they're both unconscious, I can't raise them either_..."

"... _Eagle One, this is Flight Command... take them out_..."

"... _but sir_...!"

"... _you have your orders, Captain... take them out_..."

San Diego, stretching out below him. Its inhabitants, blissfully unaware of the disaster that was diving helplessly towards them.

Two lives, against those of countless others.

His training, his duty. Its very worst case scenario.

A shaking hand in front of him. Its fingers hovering over that fateful switch.

Their voices, still refusing to listen to him. Cold, flat, clinical voices, crashing against his horrified conscience.

"... _Captain, I'm giving you a direct order_..."

"... _take... them... out_..."

A moment's hesitation, before Fate had intervened. Saved him, but not two of his closest friends.

' _...she's on fire! I repeat, she's on fire, she's breaking up, and... oh, God! Oh God, Flight Command, I'm - I'm hit too... I've been hit by debris, I'm going down! Ejector seat's failed... mayday, I'm going down, I'm going to -_ '

Closing his eyes, Scott returned to the blackness that had swept over him then. That had left him in a deep coma for almost a week afterwards. A depthless void, which he'd been oddly reluctant to leave.

Yes, he'd been happy there, in that dark, silent world. There'd been no pain. No horror. No memories. Just endless darkness. Carefree peace.

Then the miracles of medicine, and surgery, and... yes, maybe his own damn stubbornness, had pulled him out of it. Just as it did now, it had made him open his eyes, and pulled him back into... _this_.

Yes, _this_ was his life now. The island home that he'd come to love had become as much a prison as the hospital that his father had... what? Rescued him from? Smuggled him out of, in the dead of night, like one of those nineteenth century grave-robbers?

Swallowing hard, Scott glanced at the tray of meds beside him. He'd already taken his latest sets, and wouldn't need to take any more until he went to bed. Or, he bitterly reminded himself, when Dad, or John, or Virgil, took him to bed.

As a four year old, he'd loved it. Loved it so much when his father had tucked him in, and ruffled his hair. Laughed, and given in to his demands for another story. Twenty years later, though, Scott hated it.

God, right now, he hated everything. Himself, this damn island. This now utterly ruined life.

Listless eyes strayed back to the table beside him. Yes, he was all dosed up now, like a good little patient, but just... just for a moment, part of him wondered if he shouldn't take another. Or just the whole damn lot. At least then, he'd be free again. Free of this living hell.

No more pain. No more guilt. No more shame, that he'd brought not to just to himself, but his father too. His whole family, generations of the Tracy name, proudly representing some of the best pilots and astronauts in American history.

Somewhere through these thoughts, his hand had reached towards that tray of bottles and containers. Just one thought, though, made him retract it. Made him stare down at it with wide, horrified eyes.

One thought that, in turn, held six other lives inside it. His family. How _they'd_ react to what he'd just considered.

To kill himself. Suicide. Christ, was he really that desperate? Had he really reached that point of no return?

His hand was shaking now. _All_ of him was shaking. Shaking with pure terror, as this unthinkable question met its equally unthinkable answer.

Yes. Yes, he had.

If he'd had the voice to do it, he'd have screamed. Instead, that release of terror and helplessness came through his stomach, as what little he'd had for lunch heaved itself into the bowl that, thank God, he'd somehow managed to grab in time to catch it.

Except - no. No, _his_ arms and hands were still clamped across his body, and... _what_?! _What the hell_?!

Blinking against tears of pain and shock, the deepest terror he'd ever felt, Scott stared dazedly back into eyes as wide, and scared, as impossibly blue as his own.

Eyes set in a face still peppered with freckles, topped by a mop of blond hair, and -

"Al- _Allie_?"

Damn, his voice! Or, rather, what now passed for it. A faint, shaking croak. A voice full of pain, and fear that, inevitably, transferred itself onto the face in front of him.

His baby brother, just past his twelfth birthday... facing something no twelve year old kid should ever have to deal with, and... oh, dear God! _Allie_!

He must have spoken that last part aloud, since Alan's face betrayed its consequences. Already scared out his wits, those innocent eyes were filling with tears. Tears that had to fall. Had to release themselves so that his, too, could do the same.

Something else, too, was stirring inside him now, giving him the strength to sit up. To lean forward, and pull Alan into his arms. An instinct that roused itself, shook itself free from all the darkness that had been lying so heavily on top of it. That grew bigger, deeper, stronger, as he felt his little brother shaking against him. Heard a small, scared voice reach into his heart - to silently break it, so that it had no choice but to heal.

"I'm - I'm scared, Scott... you - you're all hurt, and sad, and... and I can't do anything to make you all better again!"

And - that did it. Already in tears of guilt that he'd upset his little brother so badly, Scott Tracy fell apart.

It was as if a dam had given way, releasing the torrent of emotions that had been held in check behind it. Holding onto Alan as if his life depended on it, he cried. Wept out tides of anger, and grief, and guilt, and the sheer despair that had just pushed him towards an unthinkable brink.

Tears that Alan returned, just as freely, for his fallen hero. The big brother he adored, who was now in such terrible, terrible pain.

Huddled together, neither able to speak, they cried. Tried to talk, but then somehow realized it was too soon to try. So they just cried. Wrapped in each other's arms, they clung to each other and cried - too deep in their grief to notice the silent presence beside them. To feel the gentlest of hands settle onto their shoulders.

Fighting back his own emotions, Jeff stood beside his oldest and youngest sons. Offered the best smile he could manage, as his three others looked to him for reassurance and guidance. Watched in proud approval as they all rushed to their brothers' sides - huddled so carefully around them, doing all they could to comfort them.

More tears. Five lots of them now, all falling together into a single well of grief. Yet still Jeff smiled, in relief for the greater milestone that it represented. Huddled together, his boys had allowed themselves to fall apart. Now, together, they could all start to heal.


	4. Chapter 4 - Brothers In Arms

Okay, who needed tissues for that last chapter? Yup, me too - imagine the state I was in while I was writing it!

So, after hitting rock bottom, the only way that Scott can go now is up. His recovery starts in this chapter. But as you'll have guessed, it won't be an easy one.

Thanks as always for these lovely reviews, and I hope you enjoy this latest instalment.

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Delta Fifteen

Chapter Four - Brothers In Arms

Scott's last waking memory had been that he'd been crying. Crying like he'd never stop. Crying as if his entire soul had been torn apart, and there was no other way than crying to make it whole again.

He hadn't cried alone, though. No, he'd had Alan beside him - wrapped around him like a humanised limpet. Crying with him, sharing his anguish. Trying to offer him comfort, where there just hadn't been enough to give.

The rest was a blur. Soft voices, and comforting arms - all wrapping themselves around him, like the best blanket in the world. As he slowly woke back into it, vague memories became tangible sights, and sounds, and sensations.

Yes, he had that comfort now - enough to make him blink in surprise as he glanced sleepily around him. Where he'd just had Alan beside him before, now he had John too. Wedged behind his shoulders, letting him use his own as a makeshift pillow.

Gordon, curled like a cat in their father's chair, was also as close to him as he could physically manage. The hand attached to a pillowing arm just brushed the side of his leg - gaining reassurance from this simple contact as much as it offered it.

Taking point at his other side, Virgil had somehow fitted himself into the gap between Alan and the back of the couch. Wedged into this snuggest of spaces, he'd extended his arm over Alan's waist into a double-brother hug - offering his youngest and eldest the same, calming comfort.

Staring in turn between them, Scott felt fresh tears wash through his eyes. Not of despair this time, but pride. Gratitude. Hope.

His brothers. His lifelong brothers in arms, huddled around him like ramparts around a besieged fort. Protecting him, guarding over him. Keeping him safe. Just letting him know they were there. That whatever he'd gone through - was _still_ going through - that they, at least, would _not_ desert him. _Never_ desert him.

Love and loyalty, in their purest forms. Enough of a comforting discovery to make him smile as he closed his eyes again, and drifted back to sleep.

When he woke again, they were all still there. While Virgil, Gordon and Alan slept on, though, John was reading - so deeply engrossed in his latest book that it took several seconds for him to realize that Scott was watching him.

Marking his place, John studied his brother through _his_ version of big brother privilege. When the time was right, they'd smile at this long overdue reversal of roles. The biggest big brother on the planet, getting a taste of his own, fiercely protective medicine.

To his relief, Scott seemed to appreciate it already, since a tired smile had settled on his face too. And yes, it was still a shadow of its usual self, but... God, that smile was precious beyond price. So were the words that ruefully followed.

"Guess I've had that coming for a while."

' _Yeah, four times over, for the last twenty one years... and I hope you'll appreciate it as much as we do_.'

Even if he hadn't spoken that reply, John still received another priceless response. His brother's best attempt at a grin as Scott settled back against him. Both such simple gestures, but for both of them, and for John especially, they meant everything.

"Hey, we _all_ need brothering sometimes," he said at last, still smiling as he said what else he had to say, and that he knew Scott still had to hear.

"We're family, Scooter... we were _never_ going to let you face this alone."

"Yeah, John, I - I know," Scott nodded, the pangs of guilt he'd felt at causing them such worry eased considerably as he glanced once more around him.

"And you've... uh... I - I mean, you've been here all night?"

Halfway through asking that question, Scott realized why he'd thought twice about doing so. When it came to stating the stupidly obvious - yeah, that surely took the prize.

To his relief, though, John didn't seem to care. Instead, he just shrugged, silently reinforcing what he'd said before. Wherever they had to do it, they were all there for him. And, again, it drew out a wearily thankful smile.

Sharing his gratitude for this priceless moment, John then carefully tried to take it further.

"And I know it's closer to lunchtime, but... well, do you feel up to some breakfast?"

Answered with an affirming gurgle, and the best eye-roll he'd ever seen, John grinned too - easing himself out from under Scott's shoulders, and stacking a pile of cushions behind them to ensure the same level of comfort.

"Sounds like a yes to me... okay, two lots of toast and waffles coming up."

Watching him head towards the stairs, Scott then relaxed back into the cushions behind him. Let his thoughts drift while studying his remaining brothers with a fondly proud smile. For the first time in several days, he felt hungry enough to eat, but... well, with these little vultures around, there was no guarantee he'd manage to do so.

More seriously, it would be his latest 'meal-on-a-tray.' Just one of many things that he'd come to resent, but... well, not any more. Being surrounded by snuggling brothers made that dependence upon them so much easier to bear. And, as it always did, the delicious aromas of toast and waffles woke those brothers far quicker than any alarm clock.

Virgil and Gordon first, both carefully uncurling themselves, until Alan sensed their movement beside him, and stirred awake too.

For Scott, it was another priceless sight for him to smile about. And, for John, returning from the kitchen with a promisingly laden tray, it had the added pleasure of replaying the relief he'd felt already. Not just once this time, but three times over, with the same amount of delight.

And for Scott? Well, even if it took longer than usual to manage it, that plateful of toast gradually turned into a plateful of crumbs.

Then, of course, came the hugs. All still cautious and careful, so they wouldn't hurt him, but - God, every one of them felt wonderful. Every one of them lasted several minutes. All came with joyous smiles, and ended with the same, soft kiss on top of their head that four brothers had once feared they'd never feel again.

And yes, they left five pairs of eyes bright with freshly glistening tears, but none of them minded. None of them minded at all - because Scott's eyes had also regained an ever greater brightness beyond. A spark of hope, kindled by the love of four true brothers in arms into the greatest gift they could give him.

For them, he _would_ get through this. For them, he _would_ learn to live again.


	5. Chapter 5 - Troubling Times

Well, the recovery's started - but there's still a hell of a long way for Scott to go.

Oh, and just to explain the reference to G-LOC, this is the abbreviation for G-induced Loss Of Consciousness. It affects jet pilots when they pull too many g-forces, causing them to black out. Relating to Delta Fifteen, it's one of several troubling issues that Scott, and his father, need to face in this chapter.

Enjoy!

* * *

Delta Fifteen

Chapter Five - Troubling Times

Toast on a tray. Again. For the third morning in a row. A stack of it, too, with a side of Virgil's best pancakes, and a huge jug of syrup. Enough to feed a small army. Or, if slower than usual, one convalescing Tracy.

Brought to him in bed this time, too, and... well, yes, Scott had to admit he'd rather enjoyed it. After what he'd just been through, life as the most pampered big brother on the planet really wasn't so bad.

Of course, he hadn't eaten it alone either. For more serious reasons, four brothers had been right there beside him. Encouraging him from that first sip of coffee to that last bite of pancake.

As his appetite had returned, so the need for his meds had started to decline. He was managing to sleep through most of the night now - the sedatives he'd had to take before now exchanged for the far nicer comfort of a little brother. All of them taking their turn, of course, but most usually Alan, who was still just the right size to snuggle into his side.

His humanised teddy bear made a pretty good alarm system too. If Alan felt him stir, or fret, or heard the start of another nightmare, it was like the Tracy version of battle stations. By the time they coaxed him out of it, Scott would wake to the sight of four anxious brothers - huddled so tightly around him that even their father had to take his turn to reach him.

He'd had one last night. Bad enough for John, and Virgil, and Gordon, and Alan to all stay with him afterwards. As Jeff had observed, once everything had calmed down again, it was a good thing he'd bought them all such massive beds.

So, then, the horrors of that fateful day weren't quite done with him yet - hence this feast of a breakfast, and four snuggling nanny-brothers to make sure he finished it. Through Alan's eyes, the best way to stop these bad dreams was to make sure he had _lots_ to eat. Even if not scientifically likely, Scott had appreciated the thought of it too much to argue.

More seriously, his own mind had started to process the cause of its torment. He knew the only realistic way to stop it was to talk it all out into the open. All the time he had these memories locked inside his head, festering like some subconscious infection, Scott knew they'd continue to haunt him.

While he'd been healing, though, he just hadn't had the strength to do so. Surrounded by these living walls of love and encouragement, Scott knew he had that strength now.

Taking a deep breath, then another to boost it along, he finally broke the still restless silence around him.

"I... uh... guess I need to talk this thing out."

Out of a line of startled faces, it was his father's that registered the greatest reaction. Relief for this vital breakthrough, tempered against the eternal concern of an anxious parent.

Answered by the determination in his eyes, Jeff then smiled proudly back at him. Nodded in even greater approval as he drew his chair closer to Scott's bed.

"Well, if you feel up to it, son, then... yes, I think we both know that you do."

Expecting the rest of his boys to take the hint, and make themselves scarce, Jeff couldn't help but smile when, of course, they did nothing of the kind. All the time that Scott needed them, his four little protectors weren't going anywhere. And not even their father's best 'look' was going to change their minds.

Even so, Jeff still felt a niggling unease for what they were about to hear. He knew Scott had the sense to keep any graphic details for a more appropriate time. But for Alan, especially, who was still so vulnerably young, who worshipped the ground his big brother walked on - no, this wasn't going to be easy, for any of them.

From his ongoing silence, he knew his eldest son felt the same. Unseen by anyone else, a silent understanding then passed between them.

As much as they had to know for today... the rest, as needed, through the days to come.

Of course, there was a hell of a lot to tell. And, in truth, Scott wasn't sure where to start. But then logic, and the best kind of inspiration, brought a wry smile back to his face. Just as he'd done for all those countless bedtime stories, he'd start at the beginning.

"I - I knew they were in trouble before they even took off... Ted kept saying they were getting a warning light for their main engine, but they... they..."

Yeah, so much for 'talking it out.' He hadn't even gotten to the hard part yet, and... damn it, he was stalling already.

Willingly or otherwise, his military training now took over his thoughts. Pulled him so deeply into them that he completely forgot what he'd been saying.

 _Had_ they stalled? Had the new jewel of the Air Force's fleet been destroyed by something so damn simple? And her crew - two of the best pilots he'd ever known, specially chosen for their skills and experience. Why had they blacked out, when they were both well below the risk limit for such fatal G-LOC?

The more he tried to answer those questions, the harder they became to answer.

Just what the hell had gone wrong? What had happened in that cockpit? Why had her two, highly respected pilots lost consciousness so quickly? Hailed as the fastest, safest jet in their history, why the hell had Delta Fifteen crashed?

And, of course, the most painful question of them all. Aside from those disastrously ignored warnings, could he have done anything more to stop it?

The question that had haunted him for the last five weeks. All the ' _what_ _if_?' uncertainty that not even his father's gentle assurance could come close to dispelling.

"You didn't do anything wrong, son... you called it in too, remember? You followed your training, and did _exactly_ what you'd been told to do."

For two highly trained pilots, of course, there was far more to it than that. Too many unanswered questions. But, in the more innocent world of childhood, things were so deceptively simpler.

"So why did they make you leave? Why did they make you take the blame for what happened, when you didn't do anything wrong?"

Such a simple question, but it generated a whole slew of reactions. Awkward silence, uneasy glances. A puzzled, _'what-did-I-say_?' frown. And a quiet voice that, inevitably, spoke for them all.

" _Alan_."

"No, Dad, it's - it's okay... I - I can answer this," Scott insisted, giving Alan a reassuring hug while glancing around a circle of still uncertain faces.

"If we're all to come through this, then... well, you need to know what Dad does already... why I had to resign."

If he'd expected his father to stop him, then he'd have waited in vain. Instead, smiling gently back at him, Jeff nodded - making a mental note to pass this latest, precious step in Scott's recovery back to his therapist.

That he was facing his memories now, instead of blocking them out - yes, Dr Barrett would be as relieved as he was. Slowly but surely, he was starting to heal.

Just as slowly, and even more quietly, he'd also started to answer Alan's question.

"As observer, I had to do two things... to report anything that was going wrong back to Flight Command, and... well, if something _did_ go wrong, badly enough to endanger people on the ground, then... well, I had to stop it, before... b-before..."

Again, Scott's voice trailed away. His eyes glazed over, his head bowed. Seated at his shoulders, John and Virgil felt a tremor run through them, and traded anxious glances.

Even when he tried to continue, his father knew it was too much for him, too soon - and stepped in to gently do it for him.

"The plane was out of control, Alan... her crew were unconscious, and she was in a crash dive towards a heavily populated area... under that kind of scenario, the observer has to prevent civilian casualties, and... well, Scott's final order would have been to shoot them down, _before_ they crashed."

Silence. Total silence, that seemed to drag on for hours, as the full impact of what he'd said sunk in. From his still vulnerable son, the most troubling silence of all.

Still watching him, Jeff felt every part of his pain. All the shock and anguish of seeing such a simple mission of honour turn to one of such unthinkable tragedy.

And yes, all those questions too, that just refused to go away. All those unanswered questions, that now set Jeff Tracy on his own, personal mission. The inquest that had ruined his eldest son's life had been a total farce. One way or another, he was going to get to the truth.


	6. Chapter 6 - Rebuilding The Dream

So, now everyone knows why Scott was forced out of the Air Force. And does anyone think Team Tracy are going to just let it end there? No? Me neither.

Jeff certainly isn't. Yes, the fight to clear Scott's name starts here!

Enjoy!

* * *

Delta Fifteen

Chapter Six - Rebuilding The Dream

"...and you can see from these figures, Scott, that we're in really good shape... Tracy Industries is..."

Half way through this latest session of Business 101, Jeff Tracy realized he was talking to empty air. Stretched out on what was now, officially, _his_ couch, Scott's thoughts were clearly elsewhere.

Not just outside, either, or fondly enjoying the distant yells of water polo warfare, but far beyond. Up and far away, into the tints of a glorious sunset.

Still watching him Jeff smiled. From one kindred mind to another - yes, he knew where his son's thoughts had taken him. From his wistful expression, he was happy there too. Only the softest of sighs, that telltale fall of his shoulders as he finally left them, betrayed the frustration beyond.

Glancing around him for something else to think about, Scott then saw the fond amusement on his father's face. Remembered how keenly he'd been talking about his latest projects for Tracy Industries, and... ooops. Through a sheepish grin, he felt it only fair to apologize.

"Sorry, Dad, I was... uh, miles away."

"Yeah, I'm guessing up around nine," Jeff chuckled, pausing for a moment to gauge his son's mood as Scott glanced outside again, and hoping with all his heart that he'd sensed it correctly.

"It's okay, son... you're a pilot, being called to where you belong."

Still gazing up at the sky, Scott remained silent for several moments. Deep down, he knew his father was right. The sky _was_ calling him, and there was no pilot on Earth who could turn that call down.

Except him. No, that cloudless expanse of blue could call him as much as it liked, but he'd never be able to return to it. And quite how his father could ever think that he could... well, the only way he'd get an answer to that would be to make a still painfully raw point.

"How, Dad? I'm a pilot with nothing to fly, I've been forced to resign my commission... and if I ever set foot near Miramar again, I'm likely to get lynched."

When he'd started speaking, Scott's voice had been barely a whisper. By the time he finished, it had risen through gradients of anger, towards the tone that could make even his father run for cover.

Yet hearing that tone had made his father smile. Study his son with pride in his eyes, and relief on his face. At last, at long last, his boy was starting to fight back.

Until now, he'd had nothing to fight back with. With the hopes of his whole family riding upon it, Jeff was hoping that was about to change.

"Remember that time when you first met Penny? When you rescued her from that mugger?"

As he'd hoped, Scott just nodded - too puzzled by this change in subject to pursue its predecessor. Yes, he remembered. How could he not? That bright summer day, two years earlier. Joining his father for that business trip in England. When he'd had his new career ahead of him, and all the pride and achievement it promised to bring.

With everything he'd just been through, was _still_ going through, it seemed a lifetime ago. All those hopes - gone. His life's dream, now in ruins.

Sensing his thoughts, Jeff patted his shoulder. Let his hand stay there, offering more of its reassurance, while he set the pad he'd been working on in Scott's lap.

"Well, it's been on hold since then, while I secured the funding and people I'll need, but... Scott, _this_ is the idea you gave me... and I have the resources now to make it happen."

Taking the pad, Scott started to scan through its contents - the changing tone of his voice reflecting the wonder of what he was reading.

"International Rescue... a global emergency response team, with equipment and resources way beyond its time."

Yeah, he thought dryly, if his father was going to get into the rescue business, he'd do it _big_. But going it _alone_? Damn, could he even _do_ that?

From the tone in his father's voice - oh, yes. Yes, he could.

"That's right, Scott... this will be _our_ organization... self-funded and self-controlled, and completely independent, so we'll always know who we can trust... the best people in the world to cover our sixes... ourselves."

As he'd hoped, he had Scott's attention now. Surprise, more than anything else, still a bit of expected confusion. But interest nonetheless. Scrolling onto the next page, Jeff knew he'd secured something more precious than all three of them together.

A smile, just the trace of a delighted smile, grew in turn across a thoroughly entranced face. The joy he'd seen whenever his mother had given in to those big blue eyes, those irresistible dimples, and made him her famous apple pie.

Except - well, no pie. Instead, the first design images for the most beautiful, stunning, gorgeous aircraft that he'd ever seen. A streak of blue and silver, sleek and fast, with all the power and beauty to match.

Running his fingers over her schematics, Scott could almost hear the roar of her engines. Feel his pilot's soul, connecting to her as only other pilots would understand.

God, she was beautiful. Every pilot's dream, and every bit deserving for the glory of her name.

Thunderbird One.

Quietly watching him, Jeff smiled in silent approval. Yes, his eldest son was now completely, helplessly in love, and... well, what kind of father would he be if he just didn't step in now, and make some truly precious introductions?

"Yeah, isn't she something? She'll be our first responder, Scott... Thunderbird One, capable of reaching anywhere in the world within thirty minutes."

Still nose-deep in schematics, Scott then raised his head, and just stared at him. To his father's delight, his face was an absolute picture. An expression to savour as Jeff answered his son's question before he found the belief in the impossible to ask it.

"Yes, son, you heard that right... top speed of one hundred and fifty thousand mph."

A low whistle spoke volumes for the admiration behind it. Even so, Jeff knew he had to take this admiration for his son's new dream, and turn it into the strength and courage for him to make it a reality.

"But if I'm to make it happen, Scott, I need _you_ to head its operations... you've already got the experience of leadership, _and_ responding to emergency situations."

Another pause, to let all of that sink in. Then, very quietly and gently, the nudging challenge he had to make to make it all possible.

"And to do that, son, I need you to get back on your feet."

As he'd expected, the bright blue eyes had clouded over with now familiar shadows. Recalling that awful moment when he'd seen his own face billed as that night's top story, they met his father's with infinite sadness. Bitter regret.

"And who's going to trust _me_ to rescue them? When it happened, Dad, my face was all over the global networks... that's all they'll remember me for, Dad... the cocky young kid who brought down Delta Fifteen."

Another good point of argument. But Jeff Tracy hadn't got where he was today by giving up so easily. And he was damned if he was going to give up on this.

"Well, we'll just have to set the record straight."

Yeah, that had him. Straight and simple facts, spoken so simply and matter-of-factly that Scott could only stare at him. Not with the resentment or anger that Jeff had dreaded, but a spark of something more positive, more familiar, that he was more than happy to build upon.

"You said it yourself, Scott... you kept telling them something was wrong with that engine, and they refused to listen... you took the fall for them, son... and if I know you half as well as I _think_ I do, you're as mad as hell about that as I am."

Yes, he had him on that point too. An intake of breath, the darkening of those eyes to the colour of cobalt, and... yeah, his boy was mad, all right.

Still, as that old adage went - don't get mad, get even. Time to put all that anger and frustration to more constructive use. And Jeff couldn't think of a better way to do it than through a simple fight for justice.

"They've let you take the blame, Scott, while they just walk away," he said at last, leaning forward so that Scott could see the determination in his eyes.

"The truth is out there, son, and if you want me to go after them, you just say the word... I'll go after them, Scott... take it right up to the President, if I have to... I'll go after those bastards, with everything I've got."

Anyone who'd ever heard that tone of Jeff Tracy's voice would have recognized the resolve behind it. From his family to his old flying buddies, to his business partners, every single one of them knew what that voice signified. A will of iron, with the strength to match.

Little wonder, then, that Scott's eyebrows had now risen right into his fringe. With a bit of help, he sat up - the same expression on his father's face now written across his own.

"The _President_? Dad, if you're suggesting some kind of cover up, do... do you really think it could reach that far?"

Another excellent question, the most significant one of all. A question that took several moments' thought before Jeff finally answered it.

"Son, I don't know. What I _do_ know is that Delta Fifteen was a highly advanced jet that should never have crashed. Two good pilots died because of it, and you came damn close to being the third. You kept giving its heads of command warnings that they completely ignored, and those people made you their scapegoat. Now, I don't know if that was down to sheer stupidity and arrogance, or if there was some other reason. But if there _was_ a cover up, Scott, then the people behind it are still out there. More lives could be lost because of them, and... damn it, son, I'll be damned if I let that happen."

No day-dreaming this time. Instead, Scott had listened to his every word with complete concentration. Then his eyes, alight with fresh purpose, darkened again as they studied his still healing body.

Ten weeks ago - yes, he could have taken on the idiots who'd wrecked his career. Who'd cost two of his closest friends their lives. Hell, he could have taken on the whole damn world, but now?

 _Now_?

Even in silence, his anger and bitterness spoke deafening volumes. Luckily, his father didn't need to hear it. He just had to see it, written so clearly over Scott's face, to know what he had to say in response. Soft words of calming encouragement, to turn those dark thoughts back into ones of brighter hope.

"That's okay, Scott... you just get on with all the healing you still need to do. Leave the bureaucratic butt-kicking to me... okay?"

That earned him a priceless smile. The most precious, back-handed compliment that Jeff Tracy had ever heard.

"Yeah, you're... uh... kinda good at that."

More than happy to take this progress further, Jeff grinned back at him as he gently ruffled his son's hair.

"You know it, son... now, you get some more of that good old healing rest... let that sky keep calling you, because... well, one way or another, Scott, you _will_ get to answer it."

Smiling back at him, with all the belief his father needed to see, Scott turned his eyes back to a now glorious sky. Leaving him to enjoy its comfort, Jeff took back his pad, and set to work. With Tracy Industries surging ahead of its competitors, he could let its current projects lie for a while. Instead, he started scrolling through a more personal list of contacts, marking those who'd be the most help to him.

Several people on it owed him massive favours. Some owed him their lives. All of them had promised to pay him back, any time he needed it. Well, time to take them up on their lifetime of gratitude, and start calling those favours in.


	7. Chapter 7 - The Strength Of True Courage

If there's any cheerleaders out there, I'd hope you're now shaking your pom-poms! Go, Scott! Go, Jeff!

More seriously, of course, Scott's recovery is still far from complete. As you'll have guessed, he won't be making it alone.

Enjoy!

* * *

Delta Fifteen

Chapter Seven - The Strength Of True Courage

Neil Armstrong's most momentous step had taken him from the bottom of a ladder onto the moon.

Scott Tracy's wasn't going to make any such history. But, for him, about ten of them would still form part of an equally significant journey.

"One small step for Scott Tracy..."

His eyes still set on his target, Scott then grinned through a wryly adapted tribute to one of his childhood heroes.

"...one limping shuffle into his bathroom."

In truth, of course, it _was_ one hell of an achievement. Damn, it was a miracle he was able to shuffle into it at all. And yes, his right leg was still painfully stiff, still not fully taking his weight, but - well, it was out of its splint now. As he dryly noted, it was also as pale and gangly as his left.

Still, ten weeks of being locked into a full length cast would do that. And the physio program that had been set for him would soon start to ease their aching stiffness. Build back their strength, while a few more days of South Pacific sun would get them back to a healthier colour.

He hoped.

And he was finally out of that damn wheelchair! Moving under his own steam now, with the best crutches in the world to keep him upright. Not those awful wooden ones, though, from the first time he'd broken his leg. No, he had brothers instead - usually John and Virgil. Or, when they weren't hovering within five foot of him, Alan and Gordon.

"Hey, Scott! Ready to hit those lengths?"

Talk of the devil. Literally.

Rolling his eyes, Scott pulled a face to match. Yeah, to go with this regime of exercises, he also had his very own Drill Instructor. Little enough to still be sent to his room, but loud enough to make his biggest big brother think twice about doing so.

If he didn't know better, he'd be sure his brothers were enjoying their roles in it a little too much. But however much they nagged and badgered and cajoled him, Scott knew it came from nothing but love. A shared determination to get him back on his feet again.

Yes, that his primary objective now. To get off his self-pitying butt, and get himself fit.

The quieter tasks had, naturally, fallen to John and Virgil. John's brilliance at origami had been surprisingly good therapy for his hands, encouraging movement and co-ordination back into damaged tendons and stiffened fingers.

With Virgil, it was equally enjoyable down time in his studio. Through their shared efforts, a whole new collection of paintings and sculptures now filled the villa.

From the doorway of his bathroom, Scott cast a fond smile towards his dresser, and its new set of adornments. Paper boats, and swans, and lotus flowers, all neatly arranged around his first attempt at modern art. Bit wonky, maybe, and God alone knew what it was meant to be, but... damn, yes, he was proud of it all the same.

Thanks to Alan, he had a pretty decent gaming score too. Quite how that fitted in to his therapy, he had no idea, but - well, snuggling up on the couch with your baby brother, zapping zombies, and battling the fearful undead, had to have some merit somewhere. Improving the use of his hand, perhaps, like making origami with John, or sculpting with Virgil.

Or maybe, as his father had proudly observed while watching them, it had just given him the best medicine of all. A genuinely happy smile. Equally priceless laughter.

No such leisurely pleasures today, though. No, for this morning at least, maybe this afternoon too, he'd be in the pool. And Drill Sergeant Tracy was getting a mite impatient.

"Hey, _Scott!_ You good to go?"

Sighing this time, Scott turned and made his way out of his bathroom - pointedly resisting the urge to glance in his mirror on the way out. Because if he did that - well, joining Gordon for these lengths in the pool would become harder for him than it was already.

It wasn't that he didn't want to do it. He loved swimming as much as his brother. Well, okay, maybe not _quite_ so obsessively as their family fish, but... well, it was the small but inescapable things that were holding him back. The network of scars on his body, that were making the psychological ones much slower to heal.

He'd never admit to it, of course. But then, when your little brother could relate to your feelings as much as _this_ one did - well, those words weren't necessary. For all those doubts, and fears, and memories, and sights that continued to haunt him, he found complete understanding for them, every time he looked into Gordon's eyes.

He saw it now, in the grinning face that instantly changed from playful nagging into total seriousness. Felt it, in the arms that slid around him, and held him for several moments in a silent, reassuring hug.

In no rush to break it, Scott rested his cheek on top of Gordon's head, and just let himself be held. Drawing as much strength from his brother as the same amount of inspiring courage.

No, his wasn't the only body that would carry a lifetime of scars. If anyone could empathize with the memories that would always lie within them, it would be Gordon. And if anyone could show him how to learn to live with them... just to learn to _live_ again... yeah, that would be Gordon too.

"You okay now, Scott? You want to go for those lengths now?"

Smiling back at him as Gordon finally let him go, Scott nodded - unable to resist a teasing reminder as they made their way out to the pool.

"You got it, Squid... just remember I still have the authority to ground you, so be gentle with me... okay?"

Answered with the grin of the Devil incarnate, Scott just rolled his eyes. Yeah, right. Like that would ever wash with Drill Sergeant Tracy.

Of course, the water made it easier. Supporting his body as he floated on top of it made these the easiest exercises he'd ever had to do, but... God, he was still just so damn _stiff_! Before that damn crash, he could swim ten lengths of this pool, with no effort at all, but now? Damn, he could barely manage one.

Little wonder, then, that when he finally did so, Scott slapped his hand against the pool wall in helpless frustration. And, as always, Gordon was there. Right there beside him, to gently turn him around, and say the words that would never fail to inspire him.

"I've been here too, Scott... remember? You didn't let me give up then... and _I'm_ not going to let you give up now... _okay_?"

Amber eyes met blue again - the former in silent challenge, the latter in wry acceptance. Taking a deep breath, Scott then nodded - conceding defeat through a rueful but welcome smile.

"Okay, Squid-Boy... two more lengths."

Yeah, like he'd ever be that lucky. Grinning too, Gordon pushed himself away from the side of the pool, splashing another irresistible challenge into Scott's face.

"Make it three, and I'll make your breakfast... make it four, I'll even let you eat it."


	8. Chapter 8 - Out Of The Blue

Awww! Yes, I rather enjoyed writing that last chapter. And I thought you'd all enjoy a bit more brotherly bonding too.

There's more to come in this chapter as well, as events take a significant turn. It's a pretty long one, too, setting the scene for the next (and final) chapter.

Enjoy!

* * *

Delta Fifteen

Chapter Eight - Out Of The Blue

Scott heard it first. That slightest awareness of sound, shifting the air around him, making him glance instinctively towards its source. The unique sixth sense that all his training had given him, just before one of Alan's more normal five caught up.

"Hey, look over there! That plane's coming in to land!"

Nothing odd about that, of course. When you lived on an island in the middle of the Pacific, your only means of leaving it or getting to it was on one of your father's planes. But when you knew your dad was hard at work in his study - well, an unexpected visitor was definitely something to get excited about.

Scott, though, stayed where he was. Still on what he dryly called 'lounger-rest', he watched his brothers line up along the balcony rail through a mix of conflicting emotions. Yes, he'd recognized that engine sound now. Recognized the livery on the sleek jet that now glided onto the island's main runway.

Still unseen by his brothers, he sat carefully upright. Took a deep breath to settle a suddenly restless heart, then swallowed. Hard.

This was it. Another pivotal moment in his recovery that only he, and his father, knew about. Still watching his brothers, all unaware of what this visit entailed, Scott just hoped they'd made the right decision.

The call had come two days ago. Mike Davis, his old cadet school room-mate, full of shocked apology that he'd just returned from duty in Japan, and only just heard what had happened.

 _'Christ, Scott, I am so sorry... when I heard, I just couldn't believe it... and for you to be kicked to the kerb like that... damn, Scott, those bastards just screwed you right over_.'

Then something far deeper than friendship and brothers-in-arms loyalty had taken over. Mike had gone real quiet, before adding the words that Scott had silently prayed he'd hear.

 _'And your dad's right, Scott... that hearing was a total farce, and you've got a lot of friends back here who are as spitting mad about it as I am, and... look, you know I can't promise to change anything, but... damn, Scott, you deserve better than this... let me see what I can do, and I'll get back to you_...'

Now, true to his word, Mike _was_ getting back to him. Not by holo-link either, but in person, and... yes, from that alone, Scott knew whatever news he had to give him had to be _big_.

Scott just wished he knew how he felt about it. Hopeful relief, that he was one step closer to clearing his name? Or dread that all these weeks of painstaking recovery were about to be shot to hell.

Always the first to sense such shifts in his mood, Virgil now turned towards him - the smile on his face fading when he saw the expression on his brother's. Not one of pain, or any kind of discomfort, but serious enough to bring him instantly back to Scott's side.

"Scott? Hey, are you okay?"

From just these two, quiet questions, Scott found himself surrounded by four, anxiously huddling brothers. For so many reasons, especially for how Alan was determined to climb into his lap, he had to smile as he tried, in vain, to fend them off.

"Yes, I'm fine, Virg... really, I'm fine, I'm just... you know, thinking."

Yeah, like that would ever convince them. Against four still anxiously hovering brothers, he'd have had more luck fighting off a litter of hyper-licky puppies.

More seriously than yelling at them to ' _Go_ , _fetch_!', Scott knew the only way to settle them down would be to answer the question that none of them seemed willing to ask.

"Really, guys, I'm okay, I've just... well, a really good friend of mine flies a plane like that... I think I know who's come to see us."

' _And_ _why_.'

He hadn't said that last part aloud. Then again, he didn't need to. He could see that question's answer, written in unity across every face around him. Whoever this mysterious visitor was, there could only be one reason for why he'd flown out all this way to see them. And, for Scott, it prompted another priceless reaction.

As soon as he rose to his feet, his brothers immediately closed ranks around him. John and Virgil at his shoulders, each sliding an arm around him, while Gordon and Alan took point ahead of him. And, again, he could only smile at their determination to protect him as they made their way back into the villa.

Jeff, too, had become proudly accustomed to seeing this unique closeness between them. To anyone else, the sight of four grim faced boys huddled around their eldest brother might have been daunting. But for an ex-combat pilot who'd appreciate such solidarity, it drew out an approving smile.

Where Mike Davis was concerned, it helped when that fiercely protected brother was also one of your closest friends. Two broadening grins, one of delighted relief, the other in hopeful gratitude, soon lifted the awkward tension around them. So did the hug that threw all military discipline to the wind.

Then again, neither of them looked at all 'military-ish' right now. Dressed in more tactful civvies, Mike looked as far from an Air Force officer as it was possible to get. And for Alan, the sight of him in jeans and a tatty old T shirt just begged the observation that only a twelve year old could make.

"Are you _really_ a pilot? You don't _look_ like a pilot."

Ah, yes. One of those innocent remarks that made your older, wiser relatives wish the ground would open up beneath them. Fighting back a helpless smile, Jeff certainly did. And for Scott, now settled into his favourite armchair, it just made him close his eyes, and facepalm this latest embarrassment away.

Far from being offended, though, Mike just laughed as he kept his own disbelief more tactfully to himself. Still stationed at Scott's side, the only similarity this little inquisitor had to his biggest big brother was the startling blue of his eyes.

Oh, and the whole Tracy tenacity too. Yeah, just minutes after meeting him, Mike knew this kid had that trait in spades.

"Well, your brother here can assure you I am, but this ought to seal it," he grinned, tossing a small wallet into Alan's lap, and winking at Scott as three curious brothers huddled around him to look at it.

As they'd both expected, Alan's curiosity wasn't sated at all by what he now read out to them.

"Major Michael Davis... Judge... Advocate... General."

No, to their further amusement, his rank, and the organization he worked for, just served to increase it.

"What's that?"

Still laughing at the ' _h_ ey- _he_ ' _s_ - _nothing_ - _to_ - _do_ - _with_ - _me_ ' look on Scott's face, Mike took his ID back again - bracing himself for another salvo of questions that would make his last cross examination feel like a cakewalk.

"Well, as well as being a pilot, like your brother, I'm also a lawyer... if someone in the Air Force does something wrong, it's my job to find out what happened, and make sure the right people take responsibility for it."

All old news to him, of course, and to his old room-mate, but... well, an explanation that a hero-worshipping twelve year old would find _really_ exciting. So no, he wasn't at all surprised when Alan asked the question that the rest of his brothers were just dying to ask too.

"So you're here to help Scott be a pilot again?"

More bright eyed innocence - answered this time by a rueful smile as Scott ruffled his hair.

"Sorry, kiddo, it... uh, doesn't quite work like that... because Mike knows me so well, he can't investigate anything that I'm involved in."

"Yeah, it's called conflict of interest," Mike explained just as gently, the regret in his voice revealing how much that ruling frustrated him.

Met with four disappointed faces, and two smiles of silent empathy, he then smiled too. Yes, if there was one thing he'd learned real fast in law school, it was the art of legal compromise.

"But what I _can_ tell you is the investigation into Delta Fifteen _has_ been re-opened... and with everything you've been through, Scott, I wanted you to hear it from me, personally, because... well, you're owed that much, at the very least. And if not for this conflict of interest, you know I'd be fighting your corner, with everything I've got."

Pausing once more, as if deciding whether to continue, he met Scott's eyes again, and joined him in casting a grateful grin towards his father.

"Still, from what I hear, your dad's making a pretty good job of that already."

Taking this compliment in the same spirit, Jeff grinned too - a modest shrug hiding the ongoing battle beneath it. Through the past weeks, he'd rattled some pretty big cages, and... well, from the call he'd taken that morning, it was starting to pay off.

All tactfully edited, of course, for the four sons who were still better off for this 'need-to-know' basis. As he'd hoped, they hadn't bugged him about all the complex details. It was enough for them to just know he was 'trying to make things right again.'

Besides, they had a new hero now. One that, to his amusement, wasn't just taking his share of their admiration now, he'd become a part of the family too.

After a shaky start, Alan wanted to know all about his new friend. And, more worryingly for at least one person in the room, everything else he had to tell about his biggest big brother.

Above still blissfully innocent heads, a playful glare created a moment of mutual understanding.

 _'Tell him_ , _and_ _you_ ' _ll_ _be_ _getting tossed into my pool_.'

From what he'd seen of it, Mike had to admit that... yes, it was a gorgeous pool to get tossed in. But one he'd prefer to swim in, instead of what his ex room-mate had in mind. So instead, he wisely kept to the safer tales of life with Captain Tracy. Memories of their first tour of duty together, how cool it felt to fly so fast, Scott's no longer secret talent for cooking Chinese food, and - yes, even though they didn't fly together any more, they were still really good friends.

For Scott, of course, those memories were as bittersweet for him as they were fascinating for his brothers. Luckily, Mike had expected this already, subtly watching him the whole time. As soon as he saw that telltale change on Scott's face, he smoothly changed the subject onto less painful ground.

Where he'd grown up, what his favourite hobbies were. Which sports he preferred, football or baseball. Did he see the stars when he flew really high? All answered with humouring patience, for the boys with which he'd made an instant connection. And by the time he'd been shown around the villa, it was late enough for Scott's offer to stay overnight to be gladly accepted.

Once four reluctant brothers had finally gone to bed, it also gave them the chance to talk in private. To stand together on the outer balcony, and take this moment of peaceful quiet to reflect, reminisce... and remember.

For Scott, there was another reason for this friend-to-friend chat. Yes, it had been wonderful for Mike to come see him like this. To remember the better times they'd had together.

It was what he _hadn't_ said, though, that kept sticking in Scott's mind. They'd known each other for a long time. Been through enough together for him to know there was more to Mike's visit than this. Something that one of his most trusted friends wasn't telling him.

Their differences in rank meant nothing against the greater bonds of their friendship. From the most mundane matters to their most personal fears, they'd never kept secrets.

For those reasons alone, not least the concern of a troubling mystery, Mike Davis had no intention of keeping such secrets now. Through a frowning sigh, that secret was now finally revealed.

"He's gone, Scott... the engineer who supervised those last upgrades, he's just... well, gone AWOL... like he's just dropped off the planet."

Staring back at him, Scott was frowning too now. As his own senior officers had so kindly demonstrated, there was nothing like causing such a tragic disaster to make you go AWOL to cover your own ass, but... no, something more than self-serving survival was behind that engineer's disappearance. There'd just been something about the guy that had _really_ bugged him.

Oh, he'd been polite enough, if a bit oily with that odd English accent, and too-wide smile. But there'd been something in his eyes that had made Scott's skin crawl. A bit too much interest in the mission he'd been given, to observe the first flight of Delta Fifteen.

As a member of his flight crew - yes, of course he'd be justified in showing such interest, but from this guy... no, there'd just been a few too many questions.

And now he was gone. Not just AWOL either but, as Mike had just said, as if he'd never existed.

Another troubling thought for him to mull over, as Scott raised his head again, to stare up at the stars above him. If just to release this unease he now felt... yeah, he'd brief his father about it too. See if rattling a few more of those cages could bring him some answers.

Sharing his thoughts as deeply as he'd read them, Mike rested a gently tightening hand on Scott's shoulder. Made him a quiet but heartfelt promise.

"Wherever he's gone to ground, Scott... if he's part of what those bastards did to you... don't worry, we _will_ find him."

Not doubting that for a moment, Scott smiled back at him, and nodded with the same degree of gratitude. Pushing his concerns at what Mike had just told him to the back of his mind, he then softly broke the still restless silence between them.

"I know you will, but... damn it, Mike, they were good pilots... good people, good friends, who didn't deserve to die like that... damn it, _no-one_ deserves to die like that."

Meeting Mike's eyes once more, he took a deep breath. Managed another grateful smile as Mike's hand squeezed his shoulder, as gently as his next word of comfort.

"I know, Scott... but between your dad, and the investigators who _can_ fight your case with him, we _will_ get to the truth. Not just for you, but for Ted and Petey too."

Small comfort for two, still grieving families - but enough of a promise to make Scott smile again, and nod in acknowledgement as they raised their glasses in tribute to the sky's newest stars.

More silence, to pay them the respects they deserved. Then it was Mike's turn to make this moment of 'if only' regrets into one that, he hoped, would be just that little easier to live with.

"Like I said, Scott, you've got one _hell_ of a team fighting your corner... and when I told him I was coming out here, Mac asked me to give you this, to... well, just to remember the better times we had together."

Taking a small box from his pocket, he nudged it into Scott's hand - watching in hopeful silence as he watched him study the medal inside it. In truth, he hadn't been sure if this was going to be a good idea or not. A wistful smile told him all that he, and Mac, and the rest of Scott's squadron, had hoped for.

Whatever their senior officers thought of this gesture, they'd been determined to bring that Medal For Valour back where it belonged.

Running his fingers over the greatest accolade he'd ever receive for his country, Scott let it draw him back into its memories. Yes, of course he'd been proud to be honoured for his courage, acting way beyond the call of duty, but... well, in _his_ eyes, he'd just acted on something he couldn't quite identify.

Helping others, and saving lives, seemed to come so naturally to him, and... yes, maybe, just maybe, his mother had been right. Maybe this instinct that he'd honed through four younger brothers _was_ some kind of greater destiny.

A sudden shift in the breeze pulled him gently back to current reality. Reminded him that two lives, two roads of different destinies, were about to cross paths. Glancing down at the pool below them, where that second calling was still being built below it, he had to wonder which road he'd choose to take.

If - and right now, it was a _big_ if - Mike was right, and his name _was_ cleared by this fresh enquiry, what would he do? Go back to the life he'd known before? A life that was already irrevocably changed? Or would he repay his father's faith in him, and take _his_ dream forward, into a completely new world of possibilities?


	9. Chapter 9 - Journey's End

Well, folks, here we are - the end of a story that I didn't even plan to write!

As always, thank you to all of you who supported me through it. Your reviews and messages have been greatly appreciated.

To be honest, I toyed with the idea of writing a big, courtroom scene where Scott's senior officers get what's coming to them. But I don't have any legal experience, and I certainly have no idea on how such military courts work.

Also, I wanted this story to be about Scott, recovering from his ordeal, and moving on from it into his role in International Rescue. So this closing chapter brings everything he's been through to what, I hope, is a satisfying and realistic conclusion.

Thanks again for following me through this story, and hope to see you back here soon!

* * *

Delta Fifteen

Chapter Nine - Journey's End

"...and it's the further finding of this Court that the initial investigation into Delta Fifteen was deeply flawed... Captain Tracy made three separate warnings over her main engine... if just one of them had been acted upon, the fault in its design which led to the contamination of her air supply would have been rectified... the senior officers who have now been identified as ignoring those warnings will now be court-martialled themselves, for their dereliction of duty, and their withholding of such crucial evidence... we also find that Captain Tracy's efforts to prevent this tragedy have been fully attested... his rank and commission is to be re-instated, with immediate effect... and, on behalf of this Court, I would like to extend our apologies to him, for a judgement against him that was completely unjust."

So, then. That was that. The hardest, toughest, and longest four months of Scott Tracy's life had been ended by a holo-message that had lasted for less than a minute.

The sheer irony of it, too... well, if you didn't just shake your head, and smile, you'd be damn tempted to cry instead. And those dark days of such crippling guilt and grief were behind him now. Just one of countless memories, that he now had the power to keep locked safely away in his mind.

Yes, _he_ could control them now. Not the other way around.

More thoughts, full of rueful humour, made that smile widen as Scott set the message back to 'replay.' Yes, he'd watched it countless times already, but... damn, even now, he couldn't believe it. He was still convinced it was some kind of dream, that would devastate him all over again when he woke back into reality.

But no. In the privacy of his bedroom, he'd watched it a second time. Pinched himself, then watched it again. A third time. A fourth. After the fifth, he'd finally accepted what the joyous yells of his brothers, all their hugs of ecstatic celebration, had told him to start with.

He'd been completely exonerated. His name hadn't just been cleared, it had been lauded to heroic levels, for everything he'd so needlessly been through.

The nightmare was finally over.

Well, almost. He still had one last duty to perform, before the worst four months of his life could fully come to an end. All he had to do was get dressed for the occasion, and... well, as he listened once more to the official clearing of his name, that was taking a curiously long time.

Dad had already called in to ask if he was ready. In respective turns, four little nanny-brothers had poked their heads around his door to make sure he was okay. Now, his rather less kindly inner voice took over.

 _'Damn it_ , _Tracy_... _just man up_ , _and do it_!'

Yes, nothing like your very own Drill Instructor to get you moving. Again, it drew out a rueful smile as Scott took his shirt down from its hanger, and slid it carefully around his shoulders.

"Last time I'll be doing this," he sighed, rolling his eyes, and pulling a face to match before Drill Instructor Tracy made its feelings clear on such sentimental mushiness.

Smiling nonetheless, Scott kept the rest of his musings to himself as he finished dressing - straightening his tie while he studied his reflection.

God, the first time he'd put on this uniform, he'd stood just like this, in front of the same mirror. Stared at himself, jut as he was doing now. Allowed himself just the trace of a smile, for how perfectly it suited him.

Just over three years ago. Three years, two months, and five days. Yet, suddenly, it felt like a lifetime.

He'd always loved it, too. These prestigious shades of blue that had complemented his eyes, and his equally striking height. Glancing back at the only parts of it that he'd be able to keep - some tatty old sweatshirts, and his old mission flask - he was all too aware of how much he was going to miss it.

Still, as his father had told him, all those painful weeks ago, he had to look forward. What was done was done, and he couldn't undo it. All he could do was to carry out this one, last duty. Then, at last, it really _would_ be over.

Against those haunting memories, too, were ones that he'd gladly hold onto. Achievements that he'd remember with joy and pride - like the medal that stood out among all its companions.

Straightening its ribbon - because everything today had to be perfect - Scott fingered the medallion below it with all the reverence it deserved. He wasn't going to get any such honours for this new life he was about to embark on, but... well, that was fine with him. To be living at all, and do all he could to help others keep living too, would be all the thanks and recognition he'd ever need.

Giving his tie one last tweak - a habit borne from his mother's funeral, that he'd never been able to break - Scott gave himself one last checkover, brushing away some stray lint from his collar, then turned off his holo-board and strode out of his room.

Just as he'd expected, four anxiously hovering brothers stood waiting for him in the hall. All dressed as soberly as their father to suit this occasion, and taking their turn to give him a mutually encouraging hug.

Each of them took the same turn to sit beside him, while their father flew them back to the town he'd once vowed they'd never set foot in again. A town full of pain, and screams, and people who'd deserted and disowned him, when he'd needed every bit of their support.

A town full of memories that made him swallow hard. To gladly accept Alan's squeeze on his hand, as the sprawl of San Diego spread out below them.

Even when they landed, he had to stay in his seat for several minutes afterwards. Focus on his breathing, just as Dr Barrett had told him, until he felt composed enough to get to his feet. As she'd no doubt have told him, that alone was a real achievement - especially when you had four little brothers, clinging to you like humanised limpets.

As always, their support for him was priceless. So was the sight that met Scott's eyes as he stood on the top step of JT1's gangway, blinking uncertainly against a dazzling sun.

Mike Davis. Joe Winters. Mac Hansen. Buddy Adams. His other, lifelong brothers-in-arms. All standing in line. All greeting him with one, last, heartfelt salute.

Because - yes, he'd made his decision. He was leaving that life with them behind him, and moving on to one that they couldn't be part of.

The fresh start that he, his family, and these friends who would still always be part of that family, had all agreed he needed.

And, between the lives he'd save to fully heal his conscience, he'd also find the person who'd scarred it so deeply. He'd find the bastard who'd wrecked his own life, taken two others, and shattered the families they'd left behind. Because there was no doubt in his mind now, that whoever this person was, he'd played the greatest part in Delta Fifteen's tragic loss.

This shadowy figure, who'd slipped through some of the toughest security checks in the world, and disappeared just as skillfully, was out there somewhere. Clearly sick and twisted enough to ruin more lives, with hell to the consequences. And whatever it took to do it, Scott Tracy was going to find him.

More immediately, though, he had to deal with this most poignant of reunions. A moment of mutual acknowledgement for everything they'd shared. For everything they were about to lose.

Swallowing hard once more, Scott returned their salutes just as perfectly. Took a moment for the tears in his eyes to wash themselves out, before making his way down JT1's steps to meet them.

On Runway 29 of Turner's Airfield, four reunited officers stood in an embrace that not even the harshest Drill Instructor could ever hope to break. In silent unity, they held onto each other. No words were spoken - simply because there were no words they needed to say.

From there, it was a short, sombre drive, to where two of their fallen comrades would receive their final goodbyes. Another regret that Scott would take to his own, hallowed grave. More than anything else in this needless tragedy, he'd always wish he'd been there for the two, full honours funerals that he'd been forced to miss.

And... damn it, those tears from before were falling again. Shamelessly free, and mutually shared.

Even if they weren't beside him now to see it, Scott knew that his father, and every one of his brothers, would be feeling his pain. From that thought alone, he had to find the strength to get through it. To just get through the next thirty minutes. Or however long it took, to say goodbye to his two, tragically lost friends.

To lay his own demons to eternal rest.

He'd expected the hardest part to be when he reached their graves. In fact, that moment came much sooner. As soon as he emerged from their lead car, two doors on the car behind flew open, and four bodies tumbled through them. All rushing through that small but unbearable distance between them, to stand with him in a tight huddle of silent tears. To just be with him again.

For John, Virgil, and Gordon, they knew why they had to finally stand away. But for Alan, still clinging so fiercely to him, trying so desperately to stay with him as he tried to walk away, it took some very gentle fatherly intervention to make him do the same.

"No, Alan, let him go now... I'm sorry, son, but this is something Scott needs to do on his own."

Watching his eldest son walk silently away from them, Jeff then drew every one of his others into a reassuring hug. Gently prepared them for the fresh anguish they'd have to face when he returned.

"And he's going to need you, _all_ of you, when he gets back. Okay?"

Answered with four sombre nods, and still threatening tears, Jeff sat them gently back into the car behind them. Stood protectively beside them, while he, too, watched and waited for Scott to return.

That return couldn't be rushed either. As the final stage in his son's recovery, Jeff knew this last act of healing would just have to take its course, without any kind of interruptions.

From his own experience, he could also imagine what was happening now. How four young officers who'd sworn their lives to their country would pay tribute to those who so tragically had.

In silent turn, they would step forward, to kneel on hallowed ground. Say what they had to say. And for one of them, of course, he pretty much knew what those whispered, tear-filled words would be.

"Ted... Petey... you were my friends... my brothers in arms... taken too soon, by something that should never have happened... I - I wish I could have stopped it... I wish there'd been some way to save you, and... well, we all know I didn't... I - I couldn't... but for every life I'm going to save from now on, I'll be saving them for you... in honour of _you_... and wherever you are right now, I know you're both doing what you loved the most... flying high, racking up those g's, and tearing through the sky with those crazy grins still lighting up your faces... so fly high, and aim higher, my friends... until the time when we all get to fly together again."

Rising to his feet, Scott accepted the support of Mike's hand with a grateful smile. A glance passed between them, and Joe, and Mac, and Buddy, that spoke volumes in silence. Wherever their lives were about to take them, this bond between them would never be broken.

Stepping backwards, they saluted their fallen brothers-in-arms with the same faultless precision. Turned smiles of pride, and memories, and a silent promise to live on in their place towards a flawless blue sky. Then, arm in arm, they returned to where the reality of that promise rushed forward to meet them. And as four anxious brothers huddled back around him, Scott's tears fell once more, into a mop of blond hair.

There were no hands this time, though, to coax Alan away. Instead, Jeff stood quietly beside them, just as he'd done all those weeks ago. Rested his hands so gently on their shoulders, proudly watching his youngest son heal the broken heart of his eldest.

From that moment on, they were inseparable. Through four more emotional goodbyes, the drive back to their motel, deciding who'd take which bed in their room, right until Scott crawled onto the largest and fell into an exhausted sleep, Alan stayed right there at his side. Stayed right where his brother needed him until he, too, gave in to what had been a long and draining day.

Not just him either, but John too. And Virgil. And Gordon. All snuggled around their eldest brother, in a sight that filled Jeff with the purest kind of pride. Because beyond its exhaustion, all the emotions he'd been through that day, Scott's face held an expression of utter contentment. A far and welcome cry from the tortured, tormented soul he'd once thought he'd lost forever.

Yes, his boy was going to be fine now. Just fine. And speaking of differences... yes, here was another for him to savour as Jeff picked up the day's paper from a nearby chair, and read through its headline.

"DELTA FIFTEEN OBSERVER RE-INSTATED. CAPTAIN SCOTT TRACY - FROM ZERO TO HERO."

Better late than never, he thought, through a smile that soon lost its lingering bitterness. Better late than never at all. A regained perspective for him to hold onto now, as Jeff glanced back to where Scott lay, still sleeping peacefully under a blanket of snuggling brothers.

Tomorrow would take him into a whole new world. A whole new life, full of new demands and challenges, and... well, God alone knew what. But, for now, still watching proudly over him, Jeff left him to sleep, to dream - and fly in those dreams through skies of perfect blue.


End file.
